Testing God 36 - Mysterious Ways

It is jokingly said of life on the racetrack that it is not a matter of IF you get hurt, but WHEN. It’s no joke—It’so Facto, as my father-in-law used to say.

It seems quite a sensible idea to me to ask God to take control over my life since I do a pretty good job of mucking things up, left to my own devices. I find the old adage that ‘God works in mysterious ways’ is proven true over and over again.

I remember listening to Mark and Tammy’s testimony at a lunch gathering one day shortly after we met.

Tammy was a Christian but never could get her husband, Mike, to make that commitment. So you could have knocked her over with a feather when her jockey husband came home late one afternoon, a day or two before his fatal accident. When questioned about his whereabouts, he told Tammy that he had an inexplicable urge to stop by a church, where after sitting quietly for awhile wondering why in the heck he had come there, he felt God’s presence for the very first time.

Tammy said that that gave her an enormous amount of comfort through the following weeks, and ultimately the courage to allow life support to be disconnected when the doctors told her that there was no hope.

For Mark Johnston, I believe his epiphany came a bit later when, because of the accident, his life was once again spinning out of control.

As Mark and Tammy and Jerry and I traveled far and wide to various racetracks that summer with Joe’s horses, we had ample time to get to know each other. We laughed and carried on and recounted funny stories from the track. But every once in awhile, the topics we discussed were of a serious nature.

Like all the life lessons we learned the hard way.

Daily Notes: And speaking of delayed harvests, the last potential reason for this listed in Rich Toward God by Dr. Hood is:

Depth—God may be preparing you for something no one can anticipate, and your willingness to stay tough and true could be part of the training process. When it comes to finances, Luke 16:11 records that Jesus once asked a very interesting question: “So if you have not been trustworthy in handling worldly wealth, who will trust you with true riches?” I wonder what Jesus was talking about when he talked about “true riches.” For the rich fool it would certainly have meant another opportunity to give. But, even beyond giving, what are the true riches? Surely they include answered prayer, the salvation of loved ones, receiving the peace that passes understanding, and so on. Please make your own list of riches that money can’t buy, and ask the Lord to help you focus on these priceless blessings.

In today's photo, Jerry and former jockey Jamie Bruin discuss something in the Form, while UB, expresses his disinterest in the conversation.

Testing God 35 - Who's In Control Here, Anyway?

It seems almost surreal to me that I have just watched someone’s last conscious moments on planet earth captured on video. That through the use of slow-motion photography, I can see the moment in World Trade’s stride where the first leg actually snapped. That I now watch, horrified, as his momentum throws all his weight from the broken limb onto another leg, which also snaps like a twig in the wind. The tremendous propulsion carries the horse onward a few more strides on ragged shards of bone until he finally pitches forward and rolls, head over heels, crushing Mike underneath his half-ton body.

As I noted before, on the lead is a bad place to be thrown to the ground with the rest of the field a split second behind with no place to go but over you.

From the camera angle, it’s hard to see exactly what transpired with the horses in the rear, but Mark Johnston’s horse, too close behind the fallen leader to avoid collision, can be seen tumbling over the downed horse and rider. Another horse, farther back, unseats its rider as well. As the camera follows the race to its conclusion at the wire, Mark’s horse and the other one can be seen galloping riderless across the finish line.

At the same time, two riders lay motionless on the backstretch—one fatally and one severely injured. As I write this, it occurs to me just how ridiculous it is for us to think, even for one second, that we are in control of anything, really.

Ironically, I am composing this blog today while sitting at the training center where Jerry works each morning on the starting gate. It is a gorgeous spring morning—perfect, really. Blue sky, cool-ish temps and a mist hanging over the racetrack that gives an ethereal feel to the morning. I have been concentrating so hard on my composition that the siren that goes off whenever a loose horse is on the track startles me.

I look up to see the gate crew, Jerry included, and several other bystanders crowded around a rider who was dropped as his horse left the starting gate. Apparently the stirrup leather came off, throwing the fellow off backwards to land squarely on the back of his head.

As I approach the crowd, I see the rider helped to his feet. After dusting himself off and taking a couple steps, he collapses again, eyes rolling and beginning to convulse. The track EMT calls for backup and the rider is sent off to the hospital. And I pray. Hard. For my husband and everyone in this dangerous line of work. And most of all for the world to come to know the One that is in control--always.

Daily Notes: It’s been over two months since the last blog entry. I suppose more than a few of you are wondering if I’ve gotten as out of whack with my tithing as I have with my posting. Well, I can honestly report that although my attendance at church has suffered through the spring months, I have faithfully continued to tithe. I write the checks as I make deposits, so that I can keep everything straight. Then as I’m passing by our church I can drop them off.

If I’m being honest, I have often found myself wondering if God is “delaying my harvest,” because it sure seems to me that way more money is going out right now than is coming in. But I understand that of course there is going to be a period of serious testing—how else will I know that I’ve truly changed my perspective? It only stands to reason that there needs to be a time of “walking the walk.”

Even while I’m looking at the somewhat dismal bottom line in Quicken, I am reminded of all the blessings that occur daily that are not 'cold hard cash' in nature.

My good friend has shared a part time gig with me that will help fill an expected monetary void when our filly, The Unbelievable’s little sister, goes into training June 1st. All the pregnant ladies on the farm (a client’s mare and our two goat ladies) had uneventful deliveries and birthed healthy, wonderful babies. The client’s mare has just this morning been confirmed back in foal on the first cover (woo hoo!) I have wonderful friends and family in my life, and while I don’t have everything I want, I have everything I need and more. I will work harder at developing an attitude of gratitude, and remember in everything to say a heartfelt “Thanks, God!”

Since I spoke of all the new babies on the farm, I thought you all would like to see Terry The Terror's (yes, that's her registered name!) colt, born March 22. We call him Gizmo. Or The Giz.

Sound? Really?

Anyone who has been around horses for any length of time has likely heard it said just how amazing it is that a horse’s full weight (averaging around 1000 pounds) can be supported on a single leg with an ankle whose size averages that of a man’s ankle. When a horse is galloping, that is exactly what happens. For each of the four beats of that gait, its weight is alternately supported by each of its legs.

My semi-educated quess-timate is that a normal Thoroughbred reaches speeds of around 40 mph in a race. And I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that as a jockey, the absolute worst place to be when your horse breaks down is on the lead.

If a horse is running sore—and by that I mean that they can feel some pain—it will often be their good leg that goes when they break down. The reason for this is that they are getting off of their sore leg, and putting the majority of their weight on their pain-free leg. I suppose that at top speeds, this inequitable distribution of weight can’t be sustained for long.

Long before I ever met Mark Johnston, I remember being at a gathering that included many racetrackers, a good number of them current and ex-jockeys. Charlie Woods, a long-time Kentucky rider who had at that point hung up his tack to become a jockey’s agent, was talking about a rider that had just moved his tack back to the Bluegrass.

That jockey was Mark, and Charlie was relaying a story about how Mark had marveled at just how sound the Kentucky horses were. Coming here from Maryland, Mark told Charlie, the difference in his mounts was marked. He said that in pre-race warm-ups at East Coast tracks, horses would sometimes be a little “off.” Sometimes they warmed up out of it, and sometimes the jockeys would call it to the attention of the state vet, who might then have the animal scratched. But here in Kentucky, Mark said, the horses were all so sound!

A few years later, as Mark, Jerry and I traveled around the Midwest racing Joe’s horses, I asked Mark about this conversation with Charlie Woods. He shook his head at his naivety back then.

“It’s not that they were truly sound,” Mark said. “It’s more like they didn’t even know they had legs. And as jockeys, we didn’t stand a chance. There was no chance to feel them take a bad step and pull them up. They were running flat out, and when the leg blew, the horse went down.

Daily Notes: Still examining the possible reasons that our tithing “harvest” may be delayed, Dr. Hood, in Rich Toward God, lists reason number 6 as:

Perspective—For now, let’s simply summarize this reason as “learning the secret to contentment.” Again, you may be doing all the Lord wants you to do but, since he knows all of our hearts better than we know ourselves, he may be seeing an area where we’re not as sensitive to the reality of our blessings as we need to be. Waiting on God will also heighten our sense of appreciation, especially in the area of giving. They story of the widow who gave her two copper coins (all she had to live on) humbles me and shows me that I have a lot to learn about generosity.

Well, amen to that, Dr. Hood! That story is found in Luke 21: 1-4. But I’m going to back up to the prior paragraph, where Jesus is once again dogging the religious hoity-toities. Starting at Luke 20: 45 and continuing through 21: 4, The Message reads:

With everybody listening, Jesus spoke to his disciples. “Watch out for the religion scholars. They love to walk around in academic gowns, preen in the radiance of public flattery, bask in prominent positions, sit at the head table at every church function. And all the time they are exploiting the weak and helpless. The longer their prayers, the worse they get. But they’ll pay for it in the end.”

Just then he looked up and saw the rich people dropping offerings in the collection plate. Then he saw a poor widow put in two pennies. He said, “The plain truth is that this widow has given by far the largest offering today. All these others made offerings they’ll never miss; she gave extravagantly what she couldn’t afford—she gave her all!”

I am often guilty of feeling sorry for myself, moping around thinking about all that I don’t have. But never in my life have I been down to my last two cents—and God gets the credit for that! And if I’m being honest, My prayer today is that if I was down to my last two cents, I would find the faith to give ‘my all.’

Testing God - Nosey By Nature

I wish I didn’t know as much about breakdowns as I do. But the many and varied positions that I have filled on the track brought me in contact with them over and over.

Working on the backside with the horses during the 80s and 90s, it became more and more common during the races to see the ‘meat wagon’ headed over to pick up a DNF (Did Not Finish) on the day’s card. Sometimes the animal came off the trailer lame; others were winched off dead and left in the area designated for carcass removal.

Back in the day, cheaper tracks were where you would find the majority of breakdowns. That was because the horses with the majority of the problems could be found running on the ‘bottom,’ at the lower claiming levels.

One of my earlier jobs on the ‘frontside’ of the track was in the press box, high atop the grandstand. My task was operating the section of the tote board that posts changes, results and congratulations to the connections of the winning horses. Eventually, I joined the PR department and my duties were expanded to include writing the feature race wrap-up every day.

This birds’ eye perch also housed the chart callers and writers from Equibase and the Daily Racing Form, the track announcer, the photo finish guy and the stewards, who officiated over all races.

Nosey as I am, I loved working in this racetrack nerve center. With radios that could be tuned to the frequencies of everyone from the track maintenance crew to the ambulance drivers, we were among the first to know everything. I could even keep an eye on Jerry (with binoculars) who was at that time training horses in the morning and working on the starting gate during the races.

It was up to the stewards to keep track of riding infractions during a race, and dole out punishments if the jockeys’ actions warranted them. They are the high court of racing, and anyone that holds a racing license in their jurisdiction is must answer to them.

When a problem arose in a race, the guys down in the video room were contacted to queue up the race in question while the stewards deliberated. It would play over and over, from a variety of angles—side view, head-on, slow-mo. And so it was when there was a breakdown.

Daily Notes: I am really, really struggling with telling this story—perhaps that is evident as it has greatly slowed down my blogging. The happy, funny stuff comes easily, but watching this video back in the interest of giving an accurate description has been difficult.

As far as tithing goes, I am happy to report that ‘mind over money’ has taken place. Before I started this test, I think I was of the mindset that when I tithed, I was somehow doing something noble. I was giving away something of mine, and therefore should be commended. I felt pretty proud of myself when I put a check in the collection plate, as if I had really done something for God. (Hey, just for grins, check out the number of times I said “I” in this paragraph!)

But the interesting thing is, once I finally wrapped my noggin around the idea that 10% (at least!) of “my” money doesn’t even belong to me, my whole attitude when I drop that check in the plate has changed.

I take that money off the top, and find myself wishing it could be much more. Right now, it would seem that that will need to remain a wish. And that’s where the devil, and Rich Toward God’s number 4 and 5 reasons for a delayed harvest come in:

Motivation—The rich fool is proof enough of this reason. We must always see financial blessing as an additional way to grow in giving, too.

This one is no problem for me. As I stated above, I am motivated!

Satan—I know some of you reading this right now are definitely in this situation. You are following God, faithful to him in every way that you can be, but are still facing hardship. Who do you think might be trying to stop you? Obviously, when you take steps of faith in any area, the enemy will oppose you. The more you do right, the more he will want to derail you. So, stay on your guard and take your stand. Four times in Ephesians 6: 11-14, we are told that when the day of evil arrives, we are to stand—stand against the devil’s schemes, stand our ground, and after everything else is done to stand, and to stand firm. Do you think the Lord is trying to get a crucial message across? Don’t back up. Don’t give in. Stand. The Lord will provide the grace and power for victory.

Hee hee. Yup. This is where I am right now. Bathroom gutted. Fence in need of repair. Car needs tires, and the crap truck has developed an oil leak. I guess at close to 300,000 miles, that's not so unual. Porch roof has developed an odd leak, too. And the bills, oy vey! Oh, yeah. Tax time. I’m not belly-aching, though. My problems remind me of a current country song—Sounds Like Life To Me. To be honest, my problems are so small compared to those of others, but as Dr. Hood points out, this is what is to be expected when you take steps towards God.

So the obvious question from those readers who are not Christians would be “why in the world would anyone do this?”

I think it is equally obvious to the Christian readers that taking these steps is a no-brainer. Having faith that if God has “brought us to it, he’ll bring us through it,” our prayer is that God’s will be done. Because throughout this testing, we’re getting stronger and stronger in our faith. Just ask Job.

This back in the day pic is of one of our grooms, John Sullivan, just after Jerry and I were married. He's pictured here with Smokey, our beautiful paint stable pony.

Testing God - The Breaking Point

The stacks of papers covering the island in my kitchen produced conflicting emotions. I desperately wanted to see justice done for all the horses that had suffered and died because they were pushed beyond what their fragile bodies could take. But I also hated to provide one more nail in the coffin of a dying sport that I still, inexplicably, loved.

The sport of horse racing, even conducted under the best of conditions, is inherently dangerous. Breakdowns happen even under optimal conditions. Horses take bad steps and not all breakdowns are sinister—they’re just, well, accidents.

But knowing what I now knew, I was heartsick. And the really f*ed up part was that it was the animals who loved to compete—loved their jobs and ran for the sheer joy of running—that were at the greatest risk. Because they wanted to run, owners and trainers would take advantage of that and, as we say, 'run them into the ground.'

It would be like taking a Formula One race car, loosening all the lug nuts and sending it onto the track to compete. Sooner or later, at high speeds, wheels are going to fly off and a crash will take place. Can you really call that an accident?

I had the feeling that buried in this paper trail was a very convincing argument that a horse that never should have been on the track that cold night in February caused the death of its rider and serious injury to another.

For close to 10 years, ReRun as an organization had been doing all we could to convince the Thoroughbred industry that changes needed to be made. Response to our pleas was varied: We were told by some that there was no problem. We were told by others to keep our noses out of it. We were told by still others that, since we were a non-profit that needed funding from the Thoroughbred industry to survive, to speak of such things was ‘biting the hand that feeds us.’

Eying the video tape that came in the reporter’s shipment, I debated whether or not to watch it. I knew the carnage that it would contain; I had seen similar scenes played out on the TV screen many times over the years.

Finally, in the interest of giving the reporter the best ammo I could, I popped the tape into the VCR.

Daily Notes: I guess many of you thought I had indeed thrown in the towel since it’s been several days since I’ve posted anything. It has just been a wild and crazy week and with springtime close at hand, things may only get worse. But I have resolved to muddle through this commitment as best I can.

I am happy to report that I have remained on track with my tithing, so no worries there. And we (Jerry and I) have been able to accomplish some RAKs over the past week, which has lifted our winter-weary spirits quite a bit.

But the devil’s been busy, too, and since my attitude about money is becoming less of a problem, he’s had to become more imaginative to get under my skin.

Many of you know that we have a flock of free range chickens. Since there are lots more eggs than we can use, we sell the overflow to individuals and area restaurants.

Over the weekend as I was writing this blog, my husband was in the kitchen making French toast for breakfast. On the counter was an egg that had a funny look to it, and so was set aside from the eggs packaged for sale. Generally, if an egg is oddly shaped or too small, we use it ourselves or mix it in the dogs’ dinner. Waste not, want not, I always say!

Jerry had no sooner tapped the shell to break it open when I heard what sounded like a small explosion. Running toward the kitchen, I was stopped in my tracks by the most noxious odor I have ever smelled. Just so you get the idea, it smelled like a dirty diaper, vomit and a dead thing all rolled into one. To make matters worse, there stood Jerry, putrid green goo dripping from his hair, nose and hands and covering his shirt. If that wasn’t bad enough, the cupboards, kitchen window, curtains, stove and rack of wine glasses had also been splattered. The floor had its fair share as well.

I realize now that to call someone a ‘bad egg’ is indeed an insult of the worst kind. And on a day when I was already chasing my tail, I was forced to drop everything and clean my kitchen top to bottom.

The odor would gag a maggot, and even after I had cleaned everything with soapy water and bleach, the smell still lingered faintly. Jerry thought I had gone crazy—I sniffed absolutely everywhere but could not find where the persistent odor was hiding. Jerry said he couldn’t smell it anymore, as did one of our clients. Jerry has no sense of smell, and I was afraid the client was just being nice. I’m sure the devil was having a good chuckle.

And, back to Rich Toward God and reason number 3 that our “havest” may be delayed when we get serious about tithing.

Maturity—How prepared are you to manage a financial increase? For many people, expenses rise along with income so, if you’re not ready, you might be in the same situation again really soon. If you are not prepared, greed can reemerge as an adversary. The Lord may be allowing you to fell the financial pinch so that you will never forget the valuable lessons of having to get by on less.

Yup, I can certainly see the value in this lesson. And it seems that in today’s economy, the ‘new normal’ had people re-learning lessons that perhaps their parents, way back in the day tried to instill in them.

Another back in the day pic--this one may have been taken by our good friend John Engelhardt at River Downs. This is Champagne Casey (bred by John E.) who won many races for us and in fact helped to buy the farm where we now live. She's an old curmudgeon-y lady now, bossing everyone else around the field.

Testing God - Seeking Answers

After hanging up with Nate, I put in a phone call to another veterinarian that did a lot of work for the Kentucky chapter of ReRun. This guy is a phenomenal vet, and I knew that he would be able to answer my question. But because he does work directly with some clients at the track, I wanted to be careful not to put him in a bad spot.

“Hey Chris, I need to access your super human brain cells,” I joked when I finally got him on the phone. “I’ve got a question, but remember to dummy down the answer for me.”

“No problem,” the good doctor said, but I knew it would be, because speaking in medical-eze is just the way he rolls. “What’s up?”

“I came across a drug that I’m unfamiliar with,” I started, “and I want to know what it would be used for.”

“Uh oh, did a new ReRun disaster ship in?” the doc wanted to know.

“Um, no, not exactly,” I hedged, giving him the name of the drug.

“Oh, that’s an antibiotic,” Chris said.

“What? I thought it was illegal to run on antibiotics!” Realizing a little too late that I might have just blurted out a bit too much.

“No, not all of ‘em, just some of ‘em, It can also depend on how they’re used.” Chris returned, obviously eating and driving while we spoke. “But…”

“But what?” I wanted to know. “Your ‘but’ sounded a little weird.”

“Well, that antibiotic is fairly use-specific,” Chris continued. “In fact, I can only think of one use for it.” A long pause while the chewing continued.

“Which would be…?” I prompted.

“That antibiotic would be mixed in with cortisone or whatever was getting put into a joint. They would be using it if the joint had already been injected a lot, and they had a pretty good idea that there may be some infection.”

Daily Notes: I’ve had the oddest feeling all day today. I’ve not gotten much accomplished, either. I can’t seem to think straight. When I turned on the TV this morning at 5:45, the breaking news story was about yet another earthquake and the resulting tsunami warnings for the entire Pacific Rim.

That, on top of Haiti, on top of a small quake near Chicago and record-breaking snowstorms. I think somebody is trying to get our attention.

If you have a Bible, flip to Matthew 24 and Luke 21.

I’m cutting to the chase here, folks. For those of you reading along that don’t know what I’m talking about when I say ‘end times,’ (or even if you do) check out the following:

http://www.joelrosenberg.com/

From the home page, click on Blog and then look for the February 27th postings. Then check out the Four Spiritual Truths that you can access with a mouse click.

All I’m asking you to do is think about it. Then make an assessment. I made my assessment a long time ago, and the more I study about the Tribulation, the more certain I am that I don’t want to be here for that party. I’ll take Jesus, thank you very much.

Testing God - Anatomy of a Breakdown, con't

As I perused the paperwork that now completely covered the island in my kitchen, I tried to piece together the racing career of the horse that had broken down. I was also trying to match the drug records to each of the horse’s races.

I found a notation in the horse’s not too distant past performances of “DNF.” This stands for Did Not Finish, and indicates that the horse did not make the full course before being eased. Not good, for sure.

Much of what I saw was pretty much what I had expected, but there was something that puzzled me. On the list of medications along with several drugs that I was familiar with there was one that I had never heard of.

I decided to make a couple phone calls. Luckily, through my ReRun connections I had ties to the best vets in the biz. These vets work for world renowned equine hospitals here in Lexington and the majority of their clients are Thoroughbred owners and breeders. Because of this, I kept all of my questions general.

The first call I made was to a young vet who had a reputation as somewhat of a wiz kid. This guy was indeed brilliant. Nate had become a personal friend of ours, as he had devoted much time to the cause of equine rescue. He and I served together on the board of a group whose goal was to try to standardize Thoroughbred rescue groups. He was often my sounding board for much of the frustration I felt dealing with an industry who adamantly denied that there was any sort of problem with misuse of drugs.

“Nate, hey, thanks for taking my call,” I began. “I know you’re busy, so I won’t take much of your time. I just have a quick question for you.”

“Fire when ready,” he said, which is code for ‘hurry it up.’

“I have a list of race-day medications that I’m looking at, and…” That was as far as I got before my friend jumped in.

“You want to know what they do?” Nate interrupted. “Read me the list…I’m curious to see what all these horses run on.”

My buddy is a little hyper, to say the least. And always, always in a hurry. But that’s likely because his talents are in such high demand. When he’s not working hands-on on a horse, he’s doing research and writing articles to be published in some equine medical journal, so I don’t blame him a bit for being a bit on-the-muscle.

“Oh, OK.” I said. I really hadn’t planned to mention what I thought were the run-of-the-mill drugs that I already knew about. But I started at the top of the list. “Bute, lasix, banamine, Vetalog,”

“Vetalog?” Nate virtually hollered. “VET-A-LOG??? They let horses race on that???”

“Well, I guess so. It's on this list.” I said, not quite sure what had him so fired up. “That’s bad?”

“I’ve studied that drug, Shon. I can’t really see where it would have any legitimate application on race day. Do you have any idea how powerful that drug is?”

“I guess I don’t…” I began, but Nate was on a roll.

“That drug is so powerful that it could literally tighten down a fresh bowed tendon to where a vet wouldn’t even be able to tell there was an injury! You’re not serious…horses are allowed to RACE on that??? Oh, hey, I’m getting an emergency page…can we talk about this later?” Nate asked.

“Of course, and thanks for your help!” I answered. Wow, I thought. Who knew? But I still needed my main question answered.

Daily Notes: According to Rich Toward God, the second reason that there might be a delay in the harvest is …

Learning—You may be obeying God and holding true to everything he has called you to. Keep it up, but also remember that sometimes, especially when it comes to the are of financial blessings, you may need to learn new skills before you will have more income. Could it be that your problem is a spending problem? Has credit card debt trapped you? Do you follow good principles of money management? Or do you need a raise badly enough to learn new skills that might open the door to a raise, a promotion, or even a new job? Don’t let yourself be trapped. Look for new opportunities and get ready. God will help you.

Oh my goodness…this one has me all over it. It is a running joke in our family that I am afflicted with career A-D-D. I have re-invented my work life numerous times over the years. In fact, I’m still trying to decide what I want to be when I grow up.

I do love to learn new things, and I can definitely look back and see where God has used this to help us financially. It took a huge leap of faith to leave what at the time seemed very secure positions to start a Thoroughbred adoption program.

When it was time to move on from ReRun, I knew that I wanted to be self-employed. It was God that pushed me in the direction I eventually took. Working with animals was a no-brainer, but adding in the dog grooming was all God’s doing. I was so blessed that a friend of mine from high school has run a successful grooming business for years, and agreed to teach me.

Ronda’s kindness saved me thousands in tuition and a whole lotta time in schooling. She was tough and she was thorough, and with her help, I was able to bring in enough money to pay the bills while I got the pet and farm watch business up and running.

Over the past few years, with God’s help, I’ve learned to raise chickens, milk my dairy goats, store the milk and make cheese. I bake bread, store food for the winter and even make the kind of icing that you normally only get at the bakery.

On the agenda for this year is learning to sew and raising an heirloom garden to begin seed saving. This weekend, I’m registered for a beekeeping course, and Jerry and I are visiting with some dear old friends to learn about wine making. Instead of having a penchant for making money, perhaps some of us are better at saving it.

Testing God - Anatomy of a Breakdown

The Unbelievable’s first race for us was in November of 2006. It was just shy of two years earlier that I was awaiting arrival of the documents concerning the deadly spill at Turfway Park.

At this time, it had been awhile since Jerry had been actively training. That was heartbreaking to me, because that was what he loved to do. And he was so good at figuring out and caring for the horses. But things had changed so radically on the racetrack, and every day we were faced with the living, breathing proof of that downhill slide.

Jerry had begun to feel that if he refused to give the horses that he trained the drugs that so many seemed to be using, his clients were at a serious disadvantage. If his horses were racing steroid-free against horses that had the “benefit” of those drugs, even if it was to their detriment in the long run, he was competing on a very un-level playing field.

And, it was difficult to attract clients when your way of doing things (fixing problems and giving horses time to heal) was so much more expensive than the inject-and-run solution that other trainers were offering.

Obviously, it wasn’t all trainers that were throwing their horses under the bus. Two trainers—Buff Bradley and Paul McGee—could be counted on to send horses to ReRun that were good candidates for a second career. If the horses they sent had problems at all, they were problems that could be fixed, and there wasn’t any ‘wait and see’ while the drugs wore off.

Within a day the FedEx guy delivered a good sized box, and I began sorting through the paperwork to see exactly what it was the reporter was dealing with.

Contained in the packet were past performances for the horse that initially broke down, causing the deadly accident. Also included were pages of drug records on the race day medications that had been administered, as well as a video tape.

Race day medications are the drugs that horses are allowed to have in their systems when they race. In Kentucky, at the time of this spill, they included Bute and Lasix, as well as Banamine. These are all common medications that are still in use in racing today, but now there are “levels.” That simply means there is a limit to how much of the drug can be present in a horse’s system at race time. Back then, although many other states had levels in place, in Kentucky there were none.

There were other medications that were allowed as well—different types of bleeder medications, anabolic steroids, and the thing I came to see as the biggest problem of all—cortisone injections into joints. Let me clarify the above statement—when I said that steroids were “allowed,” it probably would be more accurate to say that they weren’t tested for, so they were used. A lot.

As it is for humans, some drugs are necessary and can be a good thing. The potential is always there for a good thing to go bad, and that was the path that the racing industry had taken.

Drugs absolutely have their place—to be used for treatment of an injury and to heal. Drugs should never, ever, EVER be used to cover up a problem, or to artificially enhance a horse’s performance. Misuse of drugs seemed to be rampant.

Let me go on record here as saying that in my opinion, race day medications are not the problem. I would imagine that it would be difficult to mask significant pain solely with the use of Bute or Banamine.

Why, you may ask, would it be good for a horse to feel pain? So that they stand a fighting chance to live through a race. If a horse can feel pain, they would have the chance to pull themselves up before suffering a catastrophic injury. If a horse is going “off” while warming up before a race, the jockey can feel it and try to have the animal scratched, potentially avoiding disaster.

Bute, in lesser amounts given just on race day would be like taking aspirin for muscle aches. In large amounts used day after day, its affect can be harmful—slowly eating away at the stomach until it is damaged beyond repair.

Judging by what we had seen and documented in horses entering the ReRun program, our industry had taken a flying leap over the ethical line.

Daily Notes: Sorry about the recent lack of posts…to be honest, some of this stuff is very hard for me to write about. It would be easier to not include what I am about to talk about over the next couple of days, but I will, for a couple of reasons. The first reason is that it plays an integral part in The Unbelievable’s story. And the second reason is that, if I gloss over the ugly bits, it seems that a whole lot of horses have suffered and died in vain.

In making my way through Rich Toward God, I have arrived at the part where Dr. Hood discusses the inevitable—You’ve been tithing faithfully but nothing is happening. You’ve been sowing, but the harvest seems to be delayed. Does this mean that God has failed? Or lied? What’s he waiting on?

I bet if you readers are being honest, that very thought has already crossed your minds. It certainly crossed mine! Because much like UB, I’m not a patient person. Ah—maybe that’s it! God is trying to teach me some patience! (Actually, I suppose that could be a reason!)

Over the next few posts, I’m going to look at Dr. Hood’s potential reasons for delay one at a time.

Reason 1: Timing—You may be prepared and ready for a blessing, but God may still be preparing the situation for you. Or, he may be preparing someone else who is not yet ready. But don’t forget, you are part of the solution, too. So keep waiting until the Lord completes his work because the end result will always be much better.

Today back in the day pic shows me with my good friend Christine Gabriel. I believe this was taken at Monmouth Park in NJ where we were working on the notes team for the Haskell.

Testing God - Please Let's Just Get Through This Race!

The horse hopped right back on to the trailer, which now had all partitions tied back to leave just one large, open box. The rest of the trip to Turfway was quiet, and as soon as he was unloaded, UB was checked head to tail for any injuries. No one, and certainly not the vet, could fathom how this horse could completely upend himself and be flat on his back in such a tiny space in a trailer with absolutely no ill effects. Not even a scratch.

I arrived at the track a basket case, but determined to not let my nerves get the best of me. I somehow had to make sure that I gave UB no additional reasons to pull any more stunts. But I have to admit, my confidence was fading.

The horse was settled into a stall with his hay net, but nibbling hay was the furthest thing from his mind. The bright lights from the racetrack and the blare of the PA system had UB visibly agitated.

As race time drew closer, UB and I practiced going to our “happy place.” When the call came over the PA to get the horses ready for his race, I vowed to only let scenarios with a positive outcome roll through my mind on the walk over to the paddock.

Getting UB ready took a little longer than normal, as we had to put in his ear plugs and pull the netting over his ears before tying his tongue and putting on his bridle. The finishing touch was his dog collar nose band. Jerry had already run bandages on his legs for support and protection.

Even though someone else was hired to “run” him, (lead him over to where he would be saddled for the race) I had promised UB that I would always be right there with him. In this case, that meant a half mile walk each way in frigid temperatures. Yup, ya gotta love night racing at Turfway Park in the winter.

As the three of us neared the grandstand we had to pass directly in front of the starting gate, at that point standing empty on the track. The tractor used to pull the gate was idling loudly, and UB threw on the brakes. Eyes big, tail up and snorting with nostrils flaring the horse froze, staring at the ominous metal monster casting long shadows in the grandstand lights.

“UB, c’mon man.” I said in my head. “This gate is no different than the one you have no problem with in the mornings. I know you can do this!

As quickly as he stopped UB started again, dancing and prancing sideways past the gate and all the way to the paddock.

The saddling went off without a hitch, the call to the post was sounded and The Unbelievable and his rider were handed off to the pony person to be warmed up.

Thankfully, the distance on this race was a mile, so the start would be directly in front of the grandstand. That meant that (in theory) I would be able to position myself so that UB could see me at all times, right up until the break. A security guard thought differently, however, but he must have had bigger fish to fry, as he only hassled me briefly before heading back inside where it was warm. I circled back around, taking my place just as the line of horses reached the starting gate to begin loading. I searched out Joe’s white and teal polka-dotted silks on UB’s jockey.

As the pony person handed The Unbelievable off to the assistant starter, I noticed that it was indeed Jeremy that would be handling him in the gate. Jeremy quickly slipped his leather lead-up through the small loop in the dog collar noseband.

In one fluid motion, the horse was loaded and the rear doors slammed shut. Jeremy jumped up on the ledge in the stall, perching in cramped quarters and looking for any sign that UB was about to blow. As always, there was shouting and banging, but for UB the sounds were now significantly muffled.

As I was the only person nuts enough to be standing on the grandstand apron on the rail in the whipping wind and freezing cold, UB had no trouble finding me. We locked eyes briefly, and in my head I reiterated to him that he could do this.

I closed my eyes, and immediately the image of UB’s pastoral setting “happy place” popped in. I smiled, because I knew that the scene was coming from him. I could feel my heart beating rapidly, but it wasn’t nearly so terrifying and out-of-control as before.

Blessedly within moments the gates sprang open, and the race was off! I kept my eyes closed, feeling UB beginning to get his act together through the first turn. From where I was situated down on the rail, I lost sight of the field as they disappeared behind the tote board.

I remember screaming (in my head) “Now run, UB!” and he did. In retrospect, I should have waited until I could see where the horses were before giving such forceful instructions.

Jerry was watching the race on a television in the grandstand so that with the split screen view he could see what was happening throughout the race. As the horses rounded the turn and headed into the stretch, I ran to the finish line. I was thrilled to see The Unbelievable finish third!

As soon as the horses crossed the wire, I ran to meet Jerry heading toward where UB would be unsaddled.

“I don’t know what the heck got into him down the backside, but he took off like a rocket.” Jerry said, shaking his head. “That was way too early to make a run like that. There was no way he could sustain that all the way to the wire without getting tired.”

As the jockey pulled up and dismounted, Jerry questioned him about the bold move down the backside.

“I don’t know, boss. I didn’t ask him for nothin’ yet…he just took off!”

I didn’t say a word, and UB, though puffing and blowing and dead tired, looked pretty pleased that he got through the whole ordeal in relatively good order.

And me? I was so happy, you’d have thought we won!

I felt we’d made a tremendous amount of progress. UB picked up a check and I figured the owner would be thrilled. But if Joe was happy, he wasn’t sayin’.

Daily Notes: Some days when I pray, I ask God to show me something I need to see and randomly open my Bible. Today I landed on 1 Peter 3: 8-12:

Summing up: Be agreeable, be sympathetic, be loving, be compassionate, be humble. That goes for all of you, no exceptions. No retaliation. No sharp-tongued sarcasm. Instead, bless—that’s your job, to bless. You’ll be a blessing and also get a blessing.

Whoever wants to embrace life
And see the day fill up with good,
Here’s what you do:
Say nothing evil or hurtful;
Snub evil and cultivate good;
Run after peace for all you’re worth.
God looks on all this with approval,
Listening and responding well to what he’s asked;
But he turns his back
On those who do evil things.

The Message

Personally, I probably do several of the things that God says not to each and every day. Usually several times a day. I especially struggle with the ‘being agreeable’ and ‘no sarcasm’ mandates.

But it is becoming plain to me that while I’m testing God, he’s doing a little testing of his own. This experiment isn’t ‘all about the Benjamins, baby.’ Because the blessings I’m receiving don’t all come in financial form, neither should my blessings to others be only monetary.

I’m trying to get it, Lord. Please be patient with me.

Testing God - Back To UB, Who Is Not A Patient Fellow

While we wait on the FedEx guy to bring those documents to my door, I think we’d better be getting back to UB and his first race for trainer Jerry Wylie.

Mark’s trailer was what is called a slant. For those non-horsey types out there, this means that the trailer is configured to haul 3 or 4 horses at a time, and the horses travel fairly closely confined, standing at an angle. (Hence the term ‘slant.’) In my humble opinion, someone who has never been around equines must have come up with this idea. At the very least, it was someone who has never dealt with Thoroughbreds. The first horse is loaded and tied to the wall of the trailer, and then a hinged partition swings over and latches, to hold that horse in place. Repeat the process with the 2nd, 3rd and 4th horses.

I’ve never been a fan of this type of trailer, simply because I worry (of course I do!!!) about what happens if one of the first horses loaded throws a fit.

In UB’s case, he was the only one in the trailer for this trip. UB hopped right on like he was happy to be going for a ride, and I was hopeful that this was a good sign. Locked and loaded with tack trunk stowed, Mark and Tammy and Jerry headed up the road, and I went to fetch Ian.

Ian and I were halfway to Turfway Park when my phone rang. It was Jerry, calling to let me know that they had arrived.

“Uneventful trip?” I queried.

“Um,” Jerry hedged. “Not really. But he seems to be OK.”

“Who seems to be OK?” I asked, already knowing the answer. I could feel myself starting to panic.

Now, in retrospect, it’s a funny story. Hilarious, even. But right then, not so much. And all I can say is it’s a very good thing that I was not traveling with the party of four in the truck and trailer.

The foursome had been on the highway approximately 10 miles when the whole truck and trailer started to sway back and forth. All three passengers in the truck knew immediately that something was amiss in the trailer. Thankfully, an exit was coming up and Mark wasted no time in pulling off. Just off the exit ramp was a Days Inn motel, and they quickly swung into the parking lot.

Jerry scrambled out one door and Tammy out the other before Mark even had the rig completely stopped. As Jerry passed the trailer window, he glanced in and nearly fainted—UB was completely upside down, with all four hooves in the air.

He had flipped completely over within the slanted partition, breaking his halter in the process. Tammy had a spare, but before they could re-halter UB, he had to be freed.

Trapped between the slants in the trailer, there was nothing to do but release the partition that held him and roll UB over. The slant was released, and UB rolled himself over and out into the Days Inn lot.

Re-haltered, UB got up, shook himself off and looked at his traveling companions like “What are you lookin’ at?”

Daily Notes: Back to Rich Toward God by Dr. Kregg Hood—Dr. Hood talks about 3 traps against trust. He talks about how having wealth without God is a waste. He says that when we don’t give, two bad things happen. First, we will miss many of the blessings that God wants us to have, enjoy, and use for his glory. Secondly, we take the risk of falling into three dangerous traps.

Trap 1: The “Do It Yourself” Spirit – Instead of relying on God, we think we can do it ourselves. Then we miss out on all the various ways that God uses as his “delivery system” to get blessings into our lives. Hood likens this to placing an order with, say, Amazon.com. You place the order, and the company contacts their warehouse to ship the order to you. Later, if you want to make another purchase, you don’t contact the warehouse directly, you go back to the source company. And it should be that way with us. We don’t put our confidence in the delivery system or the warehouse; we put our confidence in God who provides the resources.

Trap 2: Materialism – Materialism is addictive. If the accumulation of more and more stuff is the primary focus, there is no easy way to stop. Accumulation becomes the trap. Hood says our fast-paced, high-pressure, consumer oriented society can lead us away from generosity. Credit card debt and bankruptcy rates are soaring. If left unchecked, we will desire more than we need and more than what is good for us.

Trap 3: Fear – Dr. Hood says that over the years as he’s had the opportunity to preach, teach and write about stewardship, he’s found that the number one reason people don’t give is fear. Most Christians, he says, know that they should give and they want to give, but they’re worry is that if they give, they won’t be able to pay their bills.

This trap has me written all over it. I don’t struggle with number 1, as I have no problem asking for help. I don’t struggle with number 2, as the way I see it, more stuff just means more work for me—cleaning, repairing, etc. That, and being in debt would cause me to--you got it--worry!

But trap number 3, even though there is no rational reason for me to be fearful of this, deep down I still am.

I’ll end with the quote that began this chapter in Hood’s book:

“He is no fool who gives what he cannot keep to gain that which he cannot lose.”

Jim Elliott

Testing God - I Knew There Was A Reason I Majored In Journalism

The poor reporter had caught me at a bad time, having just had another sad, sad case ship from a West Virginia track to Bethlehem Farm. To say the least, I spoke my mind about the industry that I once loved. The lack of concern at the upper echelons of racing about the cruelty that was allowed to go on now had me really pissed off.

All the years I worked on the “front side” of the racetrack, my job was to put a good spin on the sport—even when bad things happened. And I did love the sport, but there comes a time when those of us who have a voice need to speak up for those who don’t. Animals, like children, have to depend on others to protect them. So even thought I had been speaking up loudly inside the racing industry for years to no avail, I now aired some dirty laundry to the mainstream media.

The girl in front of the camera looked a bit taken aback, and I apologized for my tirade. I then did my best to give her the “feel good” piece that she came for that would benefit both non-profit programs.

Not a month later, I received a phone call from the same reporter, who had covered the Turfway spill for Star 64 in Cincinnati. She remembered my comments about the overuse of drugs and the unsoundness of some racehorses, and decided to do a little investigative reporting.

“I need to ask you a big favor,” the reporter on the phone said. “I’ve managed to get some documents about that breakdown under the Freedom of Information Act. Problem is, I’m not sure what I’m looking at—it’s like hieroglyphics! I was hoping you might help me.”

“Sure,” I told her, my own journalistic juices beginning to flow. “You can fax them through to me.”

“Well…I think I’ll have to FedEx them,” she said. “There’s like 500 pages.”

Oh, my…..

Daily Notes: I received a call from my friend who appeared in one of the “back in the day” pics I posted with this blog. She just wanted to let me know that although she has been working 12 hour shifts since the series of snowstorms started (she works for the city of Cincinnati) she was able to catch up on my blog yesterday. She also said she was proud of me and that she loved me, which reminded me that God’s blessings come in so many forms.

I am blessed to have wonderful relationships now with people from my past that had every right to kick me to the curb. I don’t know if I mentioned this or not, but as a teenager, I don’t think anyone would have described me as a high-quality individual. I’m sure I managed to alienate more than a few people.

Several years ago, I made up my mind to try to find as many of the people as I could that I had in some way wronged and apologize. To my amazement, many of these folks didn’t seem to remember any bad actions on my part. Or maybe they just said they didn’t to spare my feelings. In any event, I felt better after the apologies, and was thrilled when the door was again opened on friendships that had faltered. There are still a few people out there that I haven’t found, but I will keep searching.

I realize now how wonderful it is to have so many good relationships in my life. How could I ever be lonely when there are so many friends to call on when I’m having a down day?

I’ll end today with a quote from C.S. Lewis, author not only of the Narnia books, but also a little ditty called Mere Christianity. That book is one of my all time favorites, as it really makes you think.

Lewis, for those who don’t know, was an atheist who tried his best to shoot holes in Christianity. The more he tried to disprove the Bible and all the concepts in it, the more he embraced the teachings of Christ. So for those of you out there reading this that are skeptical, or have poo-poo’d (sp?) the idea of a real, living God, I say DO YOUR HOMEWORK, and then make your best argument.

Here’s the quote:

Aim at heaven and you’ll get earth thrown in.
Aim at earth and you’ll get neither.
C.S. Lewis

Testing God - It's All About The Benjamins, Baby!

During my time as executive director of ReRun, we were asked by a Cincinnati television station to do an interview that featured both ReRun and Bethlehem Farm, a Christian program that runs the Center for Women in Racing. That program provides a place for women in our industry that need a place where they can recover from abuse—be it physical, mental or substance.

It was a perfect partner for ReRun, as Bethlehem Farm housed some of our horses awaiting adoptive homes. While they were there, the women in their program worked to assess and heal the horses, and as horses tend to do, they provided healing for the women as well.

During the course of the interview, my views about the state of the racing industry—or rather, the horrible state of some of the horses that were running, were made known.

Over the course of 10 years, Jerry and I had watched in horror as it seemed that it was “all about the Benjamins, baby,” and “anything goes” as far as the condition of horses that were racing. And although ReRun had grown to a national program at that point, operating coast to coast in 8 states from New York to Washington, we consistently saw the worst of the worst in Kentucky.

On our farm alone, we had numerous horses accepted into the program who were not adoption candidates at all. Several had had their joints injected with cortisone so many times that there was no cartilage left. When they walked, it sounded like the crunch of snow underfoot on a really cold day. Once all the drugs that they had received at the track had worn off, the pain was so severe that there was nothing to be done but euthanize.

Another horse had been fed such a steady diet of Bute just to be able to train every day that a few months after arriving at ReRun his stomach perforated and he dropped dead. The horse had already been adopted out, and his new owner was at first devastated and then horrified when she learned the truth of what had happened. You can imagine what she thought of the racing industry at that point.

Yet another horse arrived at our farm directly from a race, unable to put any weight on one front leg. His ankle looked like a softball stuffed in a sock. Our vet came out and did radiographs, and it was her opinion that he had probably gone into the starting gate the night before on an already fractured ankle. He just didn’t know it, as the pain was well masked.

A good looking gelding came to us seemingly in decent shape, but within a week had lost nearly all his coat—his body was completely hairless. His attending vet seemed to think he could be having withdrawals from repeated injections of anabolic steroids, which were shutting down his liver. I could go on, but you get the gist.

I was getting really tired of being on the end of the shank as horse after horse was put to sleep in our driveway. There is something radically wrong when your kids start to become used to walking around a body on the way to the car.

Daily Notes: Eugene H. Peterson, in his introduction to the book of Ecclesiastes in The Message, says this: "Ecclesiastes is an expose and rejection of every arrogant and ignorant expectation that we can live our lives by ourselves and on our own terms."

This book of the Bible is thought to have been written by King Solomon, a very wise individual. He wanted the young men of his time to be well aware that life revolved around God, not them. I really enjoy reading Solomon’s books of the Bible, because he’s about half goofy and slightly sarcastic, just like me.

For me, the chronic worrier, the following verse gives me much to reflect on. It’s Ecclesiastes 5: 18-20:

After looking at the way things are on this earth, here’s what I’ve decided is the best way to live: Take care of yourself, have a good time, and make the most of whatever job you have for as long as God gives you life. And that’s about it. That’s the human lot. Yes, we should make the most of what God gives, both the bounty and the capacity to enjoy it, accepting what’s given and delighting in the work. It’s God’s gift! God deals out joy in the present, the now. It’s useless to brood over how long we might live.

The Message

I don’t know about you, but for some reason, I always feel slightly guilty when I receive a blessing. Like I don’t deserve it, which of course I don’t. But maybe that’s the point—God blesses those all the more who openly acknowledge that:
A. They have been blessed by God and
B. They don’t deserve it but
C. They’re going to give thanks and proceed to enjoy the doo-dah out of it because
D. That makes God really happy and keeps the blessings coming. Especially if
E. You let the blessings flow through to others

You know, I think I can learn to do that!

Today's picture has nothing to do with horses, but I'm hoping it will help me kick the winter doldrums. And it sure was a blessing to be able to take this photo! Thanks, God!

Testing God - Meet Mark and Tammy

Mark and Tammy, UB’s ride to the race, had horses in training as well. Tammy is a trainer, and Mark an ex-jockey.

We first met the couple when they shipped in to the barn in which we were stabled at Victory Haven. They were like two peas in a pod—neither of them ever met a stranger. They both had bright smiles and big dimples. Their infectious laughs and down-hominess made it easy to get to know them and even easier to like them. And none of this belied the tragedy that ultimately brought them together.

Mark was currently sporting a pair of crutches, necessary to keep weight off his (yet again) severely broken leg. Mark’s competitive nature landed him in a barrel racing competition with his step-daughter Sara, but Mark’s horse lost its footing it fell, mangling Mark’s leg in the process.

As a jockey, Mark was honored with an Eclipse Award. This is the highest honor our sport bestows, and Mark was certainly deserving. His natural talent in the saddle landed him in the winner’s circle over 2,000 times over the course of his career. But within the past few years, he had hung up his tack for good.

Tammy had been married previously, and her first husband, Mike Rowland, was also a jockey. Mike was killed as the result of a horrific accident at Turfway Park in February of 2004. Three riders in all, including Mark—at that time a good friend of Mike—went down in the spill. Mark, too, was seriously injured.

The string of horses that Tammy trained was stabled at Turfway. Having finished up at the barn for the day, she had gone home to their studio apartment across the street to be with Sara, their daughter.

When the call came that there had been a bad spill involving Mike, Tammy was back at the track within minutes, just in time to speak to her husband for the last time while he was still conscious. Mike’s injuries were so severe that he was awaiting transport to a Cincinnati hospital instead of being taken to the hospital directly across the street from the racetrack.

None of this immediately crossed my mind upon first meeting Mark and Tammy, and we didn’t get the full story until much later. But falling squarely in the category of “the Lord works in mysterious ways,” once I did remember, it brought full circle for me an incident that had been haunting me for a few years.

Daily Notes: I am behind on postings as I was waiting to speak to Mark and Tammy to receive their OK to tell their stories. They are very powerful, and will unfold as this blog progresses.

On a personal note, blessings abounded this Valentine’s weekend as Jerry and I went to a marriage enrichment retreat that our church arranged.

Apparently my Facebook status, which simply said “Shon Wylie is going to enrich her marriage this weekend” concerned a few people. Oddly, more than one person called me to make sure we weren’t going through a rough patch.

Jerry has always been the overly competitive half of the equation, but as soon as one of our ministers offered a gift certificate to an area restaurant as the prize for the Newlywed Game, I was all over it. I volunteered, and we kicked major butt. Of course, we probably have an advantage since we are virtually never apart. And I’m ashamed to say that the only two questions we missed were my mess up, not Jerry’s.

But I must report a personal screw-up as well. I am also ashamed to say that my behavior yesterday most certainly didn’t make God smile. In fact, I’d say it made him cringe. I wasn’t very pleasant to a server at an event we attended, because she wasn’t very pleasant to me. And this after sitting through a sermon which stressed the importance of letting people see God through how we act, more than what we say. Because, after all, the first thing is much more difficult to do than the second.

I must try to correct this, so I will be sending a note to this woman with my apologies. Of course it may be awhile until she gets it, as the mailman will need sled dogs to get to us today!

Testing God - Finding Our Happy Place

UB’s race at Turfway Park was a late race on a night racing card, which meant that it would be a long, long day.

We had contracted with a couple who had just gone into the horse shipping business to take UB to the races. Jerry would ride along with Mark and Tammy and the horse, while I was to drive up later after picking up our son from school. I really would rather have stayed with UB the whole way, but there was nothing we could do.

I explained to UB that I would get there as soon as I could. We talked about using some tricks to take his mind off what was going on around him in the starting gate during the loading process.

I told UB that when I wanted to take my mind off the takeoff on a plane, I closed my eyes and went to a “happy place.” In my happy place, I’m stretched out on a comfortable chair on a hot sandy beach where the blue-green water seems to go on forever. Oh, yeah…there’s a margarita involved as well.

I gave this mental image to UB, but he was confused. He had no idea what these images were. Duh—at this point in his life, he’d barely been out of Kentucky, and certainly nowhere near an ocean!

We amended his “happy place” vision to a beautiful, lush green pasture in the springtime, where he could run and roll to his heart’s delight. Oh, yeah…there’s a bag of carrots involved as well. Now there was something he could identify with!

I was nervous about the race, to be sure, but UB seemed to be doing quite well. And animal communication aside, he would have to have known something was up, as the routine is different on race day. I had decided it was probably better that I wasn’t traveling with the horse as I was a bit jittery.

UB at this point had become much more than just a horse that we trained—he was my friend. And the thought of him being scared to the point that he would hurt himself or others in the starting gate was almost more than I could bear. Yup, it was definitely better that I bring up the rear.

Daily Notes: A little ray of sunshine in yesterday’s mail—all checks and no bills! Woo hoo! I can’t remember the last time that happened! Nothing major, except a small death benefit check on my father that I wasn’t really expecting. I will tithe on all, even the $3 rebate check.

As luck would have it (or rather, as God would have it) our pastor is starting a new sermon series this month called Rich Toward God. To this end, everyone present in church last Sunday was given a copy of the book of the same name by Dr. Kregg Hood. The book is based on Luke 12 and Jesus’ parable of the rich fool.

Our assignment was to read at least the first chapter by February 21st. I am much further along than that, and finding that this book fits perfectly with what is going on in this blog. Just one more case of the Lord working in mysterious ways, I’d say. Here’s the parable: Luke 12: 15-21

Speaking to the people, he went on, “Take care! Protect yourself against the least bit of greed. Life is not defined by what you have, even when you have a lot.”

Then he told them this story: “The farm of a certain rich man produced a terrific crop. He talked to himself: ‘What can I do? My barn isn’t big enough for this harvest.’ The he said, ‘Here’s what I’ll do: I’ll tear down my barns and build bigger ones. Then I’ll gather in all my grain and goods, and I’ll say to myself, Self, you’ve done well! You’ve got it made and can now retire. Take it easy and have the time of your life!’

“Just then God showed up and said, ‘Fool! Tonight you die. And your barnful of goods—who gets it?’

“That’s what happens when you fill your barn with Self and not with God.”
The Message
I think that God would love to see us with plenty, so long as our attitude is one of gratitude and we don’t lose sight of the fact that is was he that provided the blessing.

I got to thinking this morning that my lack of worry since I’ve started this experiment is, for me, mind-boggling. Worry about money had so consumed my life that I really could not imagine a life without it. In fact, I keep expecting the worry to be lying in wait for me, right around the corner.

But it is almost as if once I committed to following God’s instructions to the letter, it took all of the responsibility off of me and put it on God. Which to my feeble mind seems somehow not right, but given my almost instant sense of relief, it must be what God wanted from me.

The other thing that has absolutely amazed me is how easily the words are coming to tell the story of The Unbelievable and all the relationships that were formed because of him. I’ve wanted all along to be able to tell it, as I believe that it honors God. It shows that God that was right there by my side all along, long before I ever acknowledged that fact. I believe that the story will show God working in so many lives and on so many levels.

God never wavered, even when I did. He heard every prayer, even though I may not have even known I was praying. While I was screaming in the driveway, God heard a cry for help and went into action. He answered my prayers time and again, though you’ll come to see that even though my prayers were answered, it was virtually never in the way I asked. Sometimes the answer to my prayer was “no,” but always God did what was for my greatest good, because God is good.

Another "back in the day" pic...it must be the 80s, check out my hair!

Testing God - UB Gets the Green Light

The Unbelievable had pitched a royal fit the first morning he was made to wear his earplugs to the racetrack. Jerry insisted that he needed to get used to them before he had to wear them for a race, whereas UB felt it was ridiculous to wear them in a situation where he was perfectly comfortable without them.

Jerry won the debate, but UB didn’t go down without a fight. UB, his rider hanging on, ducked and dived and spun his way in and out of the barn several times before finally making it onto the racetrack.

Jerry made UB wear the earplugs and Jeremy, the starter, insisted he wear the dog-chain noseband for a final schooling session in the starting gate, where he stood nicely, even though I could tell he was fuming. Jeremy gave the green light, and Jerry entered UB in a race.

The overnight came out, and sure enough, The Unbelievable had made it into the body of the race. I suppose many trainers would have felt less pressure going into this race rather than more, as no one (except us) really expected UB to behave any better than he had in the past.

I was afraid I had made what might turn out to be a huge mistake—I told Joe about the animal communication techniques that I had been using with UB. From the git-go, Joe never struck me as one to lend any credence to anything like that. In fact, I was virtually positive that he would question my Christianity because of it. As it turned out, he didn’t say much at all, which is always a little disconcerting to me. I just figured that if he thought I was an idiot before, he was now certain of it.

The reason I feared that it may have been a mistake to mention my chats with UB is because many people tend to think that just because you can “talk” to animals, you can control the outcome of a situation. Um, no. It doesn’t work like that.

If I talk to a group of human runners before the start of a race, they will be able to tell me things like “I feel good today,” or “I didn’t get much sleep last night, I hope it doesn’t affect my race,” or “I took a bad step and twisted my ankle a bit.” But they can’t say with certainty that they will win the race, because they can’t know what all will transpire during the running of it. Why would it be any different with animals?

I was explaining all this to Joe, hoping I wasn’t babbling. It’s communication, it’s not magic. And since 4-leggeds can’t use words to tell us things, the communication thing is extremely helpful when dealing with physical or emotional problems.

I told Joe that I thought I understood what was prompting UB’s behavior in the starting gate, but I wasn’t sure that he’d be able to work through it. I promised that we were doing the best we could to help him. And now it was time to see if we were on the right track.

Daily Notes: There really isn’t much to note today, as this is the 3rd day that I haven’t really left the house. Due to snow and ice, not my hermit-like tendencies. Let me rephrase that—I haven’t left our property, but I have left the house as the horses, chickens and goats still need sustenance.

I made a promise to myself that I would do something each day toward a RAK, no matter how seemingly insignificant, even if I’m stuck here in the throes of winter. Clean out closets to find clothes to donate, write notes to people in my life to let them know what they mean to me, or send a ready-to-bake batch of yeast rolls home with a friend whose wife’s health is not good right now. Anything, no matter how tiny, just to keep from slipping backward.

If any of you out there in cyberspace have RAKs to tell of (no matter how small!) it would sure lend encouragement. I hope maybe someone will feel encouraged to post it here!

Today's pic is of Jerry and I shortly after we were married. We had a string of horses stabled at Turfway Park that winter, and I put the camera on a bale of straw and set the timer.

Testing God - More Bad News

I’m sure it seemed to Joe that all news from his new trainer was bad news. With Hamilton’s dismal race record and now refusal to train, we told Joe that we wouldn’t keep him in training any longer.

Of Joe’s other race-ready horses in training with us, Digger had shown no inclination to find his way to the winner’s circle over the winter, and the grass season was many training bills away. The hope that racing on the turf and covering more ground would actually turn Digger into a winner was a longshot at best.

The first filly Joe sent us, Retirement Plus, had problems of her own. A wiry little thing, she came to us labeled a “head case.” She had gotten to the point where she couldn’t be galloped in the morning—she bolted and ran off with her exercise riders—so the first trainer washed his hands of this one, too.

Not only did Retirement Plus (if there is a nickname for that name, I never figured it out!) exhibit erratic behavior on the track, but in the stall she looked like a ping pong ball on crack.

Luckily, with some turnout time in the round pen and paddock, the filly began to calm down a bit in the stall. But on the racetrack, we had to employ a new strategy. Her exercise rider would take her the wrong way around the track, and it seemed to confuse her enough that she forgot about running off. This particular rider was generally “riding under the influence.” Common sense would tell you that it’s a bad idea to put someone that’s a little loopy on a horse that’s a lot loopy, but it seemed his mellowness mellowed the filly out a bit.

Retirement Plus ran a few times for us, generally making a run from behind and stopping mid-pack. Jerry, exasperated, wondered out loud if burying herself among all the other horses somehow made her feel more secure.

In addition to all the newly purchased yearlings on the farm, we had three more fillies of Joe’s from the other trainer. The first, Lemhi Lightning, came to us for training but Jerry found a tiny bit of heat and filling in a knee right off the bat. More bad news for Joe—xrays showed an area that, if she continued to train, would eventually chip off.

The vet gave two options—inject the knee and go ahead and run the filly, or turn her out and give it time to heal. Option number one was not an option for us, so to the farm she went.

In retrospect, I suppose most other trainers would have left it to the owner to decide what to do. In our first meeting with Joe, Jerry told him that he absolutely would not, under any circumstance, run a horse that he knew had a problem, so I guess Jerry figured that the decision was already made.

The other two fillies were on the injured list as well. The weird thing about them is that no one had a clue what was the matter. The vets that had looked at them for the other trainer were baffled, so the general consensus was to turn them out and let time do its thing.

Soon after came Value Driver, Joe’s colt that had recently had a chip surgically removed and needed rehab before returning to training. Our farm was quickly becoming a lay-up facility, and I was having flashbacks to our ReRun days.

The financial pressure on Joe was mounting, and his theory on racehorse ownership was being sorely tested. But there were still some bright spots, as Joe had three fillies with the other trainer that seemed fairly promising.

As for our rag-tag stable, the heat was increasingly being turned up by Joe to produce results with The Unbelievable—at one time (according to the other trainer) his most promising horse.

Daily Notes: If I’m being honest, (and I really am trying to be) I’ve had a bad few days as far as being a better-than-I normally-am kind of person. I haven’t done anything horrible (rob a bank, trip a little old lady or smack a kid) but I had the perfect opportunity to do a good thing for someone, and I didn’t. And of course, I had the perfect excuse—it would have made us late for Jerry’s sort of emergency dental appointment. But not that late.

So there we were in the grocery, and this fellow came in right behind us. He was pushing a cart, but seemed to be using it more to hold himself up than for groceries. He caught my gaze and held it a little longer than usual, but I looked away and continued grabbing the few items that we had come in for. I did look at him long enough to notice that he was a little, well, disheveled.

I reached in the dairy case to get sour cream, and when I turned around, there he was again. Again, our eyes met and again I looked away.

We were unloading our cart at the register, and when I looked back, he was directly behind me in line. He was again looking at me, but not in a stalker kind of way—it was more in a “my presence here is no accident” sort of way. We paid for our groceries, and moved to the area for bagging.

I heard the cashier ask him if he needed help to his car, and he answered that no, he didn’t have a car—he had walked to the grocery, despite his emphysema, to get a few needed items before the forecast snowstorm hit.

As he pushed his cart (which I noticed included a sack of potatoes) past us, he again caught my eye. I just knew we should offer him a ride home. Jerry was with me, so I wouldn’t have needed to worry about safety, but I just watched him walk out the automatic door and head for the cart corral.

We finished bagging our stuff and headed for the door. As we approached the corral, I heard the mystery man conversing with another fellow who was just heading into the store. The second man asked where the first man was headed, and he pointed to some apartments not far from the store. He explained that because he was hauling groceries, he would have to take the long way around. The man heading into the store said that he wouldn’t be long, and that he would be happy to give the mystery man a lift home.

“Whew,” I thought. “No need to feel guilty now.” But yet I did. You no doubt know the saying about “entertaining angels unawares.” It reminded me of a show a few years back called Joan of Arcadia. The premise was that God was tooling around down here, and would randomly show up to challenge Joan. She never knew how God would appear—male or female, old or young, rich or poor, but it was never what you would expect.

It’s almost like God was giving me a pop quiz to test just how far I’ve come in my nearly month-long journey, and guess what? I failed.

And that’s why I’ve skipped a couple days posting—because failure is hard for me to admit. But I promised to tell the bad with the good, so I’m pressing on. But it’s a big goose egg for the RAKs, and that’s a shame.

Testing God - The Hamster Makes a Statement

Hamilton had run a couple times at Turfway Park, if you want to call what he did “running.” Actually, he just galloped along behind the rest of the field, prompting some pretty terse comments from the jockey.

Now a 3-year-old who had been in training with the other trainer since he was started as a yearling, Ham was what we call “sour.” He didn’t want to be a racehorse, and to him, it seemed like no one was hearing him when he expressed that sentiment.

We were listening, and we did everything we could to help him out. We gave him some time off on the farm to freshen him up, in hopes that that might change his attitude. It didn’t, but our pleas on Ham’s behalf to the owner seemed to fall on deaf ears.

Since finances seemed to be at the crux of nearly every conversation we had with Joe, we explained that getting a horse off the books that had no interest in racing would be good for the bottom line.

Whether Joe wanted this particular horse to be successful on the track because he was named after Joe’s young son, or whether Joe thought Jerry and I were complete idiots I never figured out, but Ham’s final statement prompted decisive action on our part.

Hamilton, alternately known as Ham, J. Ham and The Hamster, had yet another name. It was bestowed upon him by Jeanne, a friend of ours who came to work for us on the farm. She called him The Princess because of his many dislikes—cold temperatures, hot temperatures, rain, snow, sleet, mud, flies, the dark—you name it. Ham was into comfort, and didn’t care who knew it!

For several mornings, Ham had balked at the doorway of the barn when it was time to train. He would rear up, spin in circles and dance a jig before firmly planting his feet and refusing to move. Eventually, when he was coerced to the track it was obvious to all that he wasn’t happy about it.

Ham would stop and start numerous times on the track, which is a safety issue for all the other horses and riders out there training. On this particular morning, Ham had had enough. He propped and dropped Sam, who hit the ground hard. Most loose horses will take a couple laps around the track at top speed, but Ham headed straight down the exit ramp (he conveniently placed Sam on the ground right in front of it) and trotted back to our barn, where he found the door shut. He stood right there in the cold rain, glaring, until someone opened the door and led him back to his stall.

Sam, relatively unscathed (remember, he’s only 20!) was pissed off. I could see him from my vantage point, kicking dirt clods and no doubt cussing up a storm while he looked for his stick and began the long walk back to the barn.

Daily Notes: I picked up my copy of The Purpose Driven Life by Rick Warren this morning while having my coffee, and randomly opened it up. On the page where I landed, Mr. Warren is introducing a concept that is near and dear to my heart. I struggled for years with this concept, because I am the type of person that will drive myself nuts until I figure something out.

Mr. Warren states, “You were made by God and for God, and until you understand that, life will never make sense.” (Emphasis mine.)

He is so right, and I have had many debates with my hot-tempered son as he was growing up about why life doesn’t make sense. Or, more specifically, why life “isn’t fair.”

Mr. Warren continues, “It is only in God that we discover our origin, our identity, our meaning, our purpose, our significance and our destiny. Every other path leads to a dead end.”

“Oh, yeah? Why?” I can hear skeptics out there saying. Well, I don’t know why, but I know that this is correct. I know this because if you follow God’s promptings for your life, it works. Just like I know electricity works, even though I certainly can’t tell you how or why.

I’m living this out right now with something far stronger than my willpower pushing me on.

For the past two days, I’ve really had the desire to chuck it in on my experiment here. And for the past two days, I’ve not been allowed to quit.

Oh, today's pic is from waaaaaaay back. Jerry's such a cute 'lil cowpoke!

Testing God - Post Eighteen

The sales were over and all 11 of Joe’s yearlings were delivered to our farm. Jerry and I have always agreed that the best thing for sales yearlings that have gone through what must be for them a mind-blowing experience is to be “let down” afterward on the farm.

Most yearlings arrive post-sales a bit wild-eyed and jittery, so our Rx is to turn them out for 30 days and leave them alone except to give them feed, hay and water. We jokingly say they need to learn how to be horses again—run around, kick up their heels and roll in the mud. In other words, rid themselves of all that Show Sheen and hoof polish.

The plan was to give the youngsters a few months to relax and grow, and then begin the breaking process in February.

Back at the track, while The Unbelievable was getting accustomed to training in his “head gear,” the other horses were being entered in suitable races at Turfway Park in Kentucky and Hoosier Park in Indiana. Both tracks operate during the winter, and both have an abundance of lower level claiming races, which was where this group of horses seemed destined to run.

The only thing UB took more seriously than his training regimen was my rehabilitation. Each day, I had to tie him to the back wall of the stall to curry and brush him and pick his feet before putting on the saddle and bridle when it was his turn to go to the track.

I am cold-natured, and the winter months almost kill me when I have to be out in the weather. But even though it was unseasonably cold, for the first week or so after being told by UB that I was his caretaker, I would stand outside his stall, sweating bullets, clutching my grooming implements and willing myself to duck under the webbing and catch him.

For his part, as soon as UB would see me start to dip under the crossbar, he would turn his butt to me and lift a hind foot, jabbing it slowly and menacingly in my general direction.

“We don’t have all day, Shon,” Jerry yelled down the shedrow. “Do you need help?”

“No, thank you, I don’t.” I shot back, glaring at UB.

Note: I am so sorry, but this post did indeed get "lost in translation" somewhere yesterday--I thought it posted, but I must have hit the wrong button and saved it as a draft. Anyhoo, the pic today is a way back photo of Jerry. At 6'3", we jokingly call him the "extra size rider." LOL

Testing God - Post Nineteen

UB came to us already gelded; it was the previous trainer’s last-ditch effort to calm him down and make him manageable. He had a reputation as a bad biter, and showing his teeth while making his ears disappear was indeed a favorite pastime of his. He loved to rush his webbing, scaring the bejeebers out of anyone who inadvertently walked too close.

Even though UB himself had told me in no uncertain terms that he would not hurt me, his body language sent a different message. As I worked to get him groomed and tacked, he would alternately snap his teeth at me, wing a hind hoof toward me, or try to trap me up against the wall with his body.

Pride went a long way toward keeping me from calling to Jerry for help unless I absolutely could not get something done by myself. I still had snippets of our driveway standoff rolling around in my head.

As the days went by and UB’s antics continued, I had a revelation. He wasn’t trying to hurt me—the teeth never touched skin, the hoof never connected, and he never actually crushed me against the wall. What he was doing was a fine job of desensitizing me. My flinchy-ness was slowly disappearing.

Where this was most noticeable was with the other horses. In taking care of Hamilton and Digger, I found myself humming as I curried and brushed and picked their feet. And then one day I found myself in a fully seated position in the stall, bandaging Hamilton’s legs. I was totally relaxed, thoroughly enjoying my task, and I hadn’t even given a thought as to whether there was a clear path to the door.

Good work, Ubster!

I became obvious that other people weren’t so sure about The Unbelievable, because he did tend to instill fear in those who weren’t part of his inner circle. But it seemed to me that with the combined efforts of me, Jerry and Sam, UB was becoming a much happier horse. I guess it helps to be understood. :)

As far as racing was concerned, it was hard to get too excited about the other horses. Hamilton just wasn’t into it. It wasn’t a soundness issue, although had he put any effort into his races, he wouldn’t have stayed sound long with his pigeon-toed stance.

As for Digger, he was a big, heavily muscled horse with huge, saucer-like feet. He, like Hamilton, had never shown much talent to the previous trainer, which was why they were in the first batch of horses to be sent our way.

Winter racing didn’t offer the type of races that might possibly move Digger up--turf races. Very long turf races.

Old habits die hard, and I looked at both horses as if I was still running ReRun. Digger might like a second career in Western Pleasure, but Hamilton, well, he’d need a job where looks didn’t matter It didn’t take long for Ham to finally decided that he had had quite enough of this racing business. The morning came when he let us know this in no uncertain terms—and poor Sam got the worst of it.

Daily Notes: I don’t know why I am having such a hard time with this section today. Perhaps it is that my SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder) affliction is getting the best of me. I’ve been a bit sullen the past couple of days, but there is a blessing to report.

Amish Joe, our neighbor (denoted as such so as not to confuse the reader, since Owner Joe has been mentioned frequently) stopped by to take a look at our downstairs bathroom reno project. He came at Jerry’s request to give us a quote on the reconstruction.

This neighbor has been working hard to finish construction of his own house on the farm across the street. He desperately needs to move his growing family (the count, I believe, currently stands at 5 kids under the age of 7) from the one-room building that has housed them for a couple years into the “big house” that is nearing completion.

The work these guys do is phenomenal. And they always seem to go above and beyond. So we were a bit shocked at the hourly quote Joe gave us to rebuild our bathroom—it was way too low!

It was partial payback, he explained, for our helping them out when they “have a need.” Use of our phone and electric for charging their power tools, picking up milk for them when I do my grocery shopping, dropping off their loan payment at the bank when I’m headed that way—it really never crossed my mind that any of those things was that much help to them, but apparently they made the Amish life much easier!

We feel very, very blessed to have them for neighbors—so much so I’m considering asking if they would consider making us “honorary Amish.” With an addendum that says we can keep our cars, electric and indoor bathroom.

The photo I’ve included today is one from back in my high school days. I will apologize now to my good friend Teresa, who I will no doubt hear from as soon as she sees the pic. This was taken our senior year in high school at Diamond Oaks Career Development Campus (a nice way to say vocational school!) In case you didn’t guess, we were in the Horsemanship class. I will also apologize to my daughter for my fashion statement, as she would sooner die than appear in public looking like this.